


Rum is for fun and fucking

by weeo



Series: I dried my silent tears with alcohol [1]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Bar, Biting, Dom/sub Undertones, Drunk Sex, Drunken Flirting, Episode 3, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Minor spoilers for season 5, Peaky Emergency Response Challenge, Season/Series 05, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 08:28:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20597750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weeo/pseuds/weeo
Summary: “Well, rum is for fun and fucking,” said once a certain Mr Solomons.Peaky Emergency Response Fic Challenge: Episode 3 (minor S5 spoilers)





	Rum is for fun and fucking

The front door of the Garrison slams open, and a cane clicks on the floor, accompanied by quiet grunting noises. 

He might be drunk, but Tommy doesn’t need to look up to know with absolute certainty, who has entered the pub.

“Evening, Alfie.” He says, one elbow leaning on the table as he stares at the golden liquid swirling in his glass. His fingers flutter nervously, shaking the alcohol. 

“Yeah, it is. It is, in fact.” 

“I wasn’t expecting you.” Tommy twisted his head, looking away to avoid eye contact.

“Your telegram was clear though, wasn’t it?” Alfie moves closer, standing next to Tommy’s table. 

“Unlike yours...”

“Well, I’m not fucking surprised, you have no clue how to appreciate the sublime art that is metaphor, mate.” Alfie smiles, amused by his assumption.

Tommy still hasn’t looked up at him, he’s unable to. A strange feeling floats in the air when he ends up alone in a room with Alfie. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was wrong, or if he could, he wouldn’t admit it. Whenever the doors clicked shut behind them, his chair would suddenly become very uncomfortable. So much so that no position was pleasant anymore. As if the creaking chair was mocking his apparent weakness. Sneering at his every move. 

It usually reaches its pitch when Alfie sits opposite of him and watches him intently. 

And today is no exception.

Tommy can’t help but squirm in the chair. His cigarette case sits nearby on the table, begging him to take one. 

“Shall you have a seat?” He snatches up the little metal case, fumbling with it to get a cigarette out, knocking a few onto the floor.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Alfie pulls the chair and sits, throwing his full weight on his cane and grunting slightly. “Metaphor is a really complex thing, mate. It draws unexpected lines between two unlike things.” He stays quiet a few seconds, as if to let Tommy process what he’s said, before continuing. “As far as I can tell, all that booze running through your veins is a great indication that the plants were indeed thirsty. I’m not much of a gardener myself, but I’m pretty sure you’re watering them with the wrong stuff, mate. Well, let’s face it, too much of a good thing drowns plants. Especially the pretty ones. Prevents them from breathing properly. And then, they suddenly start to die from the inside.” He says, stressing the last line with wide eyes and emphasizing every word with a low, quick tone. One filled with far-fetched gravity.

He leans forward slightly, seizing the champagne bottle and dragging it on the table, far enough away that Tommy couldn’t take it back. 

“I thought you said you don’t touch it...” Tommy points out, unable to say anything else as he lights his cigarette.

Alfie stares at him, plainly ignoring his previous sentence as if he didn’t hear, or judged his comment too fucking stupid to deserve an answer. And as always, in his personal way, Alfie prefers to bluntly change of subject.

“I heard that you’re now a socialist. Saviour of the people and all. Funny that.” He stops for a few seconds, waiting to see if Tommy will respond, but keeps going when he doesn’t. “Even now as a socialist, your communist friend didn’t look so happy with you when she left the bar.”

“I guess she doesn’t appreciate metaphors either. Champagne bubbles aren’t socialist enough, apparently.” Tommy says, leaning back on his chair and trying to gain back some composure as he exhales smoke smoothly from his lips. Trying to maintain a confident gaze at Alfie.

“Yeah, socialism can come and go as quick as champagne bubbles.”

Tommy sniffs, well aware that Alfie is bluntly mocking him, and honestly it’s pretty fair. 

“I have to develop different strategies to deal with politicians.” Tommy says, in an attempt to refocus the conversation on something he has control over.

“Well, it had been proven indeed, mate, that it’s harder to negotiate without a fucking grenade in his briefcase, innit?”

Tommy smirks slightly, but can’t help feeling off in the conversation. He can’t tell if it’s the alcohol clouding his mind, or that sensation Alfie causes that he can’t pinpoint the origins of. He has nothing to reply. It shouldn’t be this complicated.

The words won’t align in his head. Unable to find an answer, he downs what’s left in his glass and drops it back on the table, slightly rougher than expected. 

“You really can’t help it, mate, can you?” 

“What?”

“Licking your lips like that after drinking. You can’t keep it in your pretty little mouth, can ya?”

He licks his lips again. He can’t help it. When he’s self-conscious about a habit, his body automatically does it. It’s an odd reaction, one that’s completely out of his control. His body just can’t help itself, as if its mission on Earth is to thwart Tommy at every given occasion. His tongue flickers out again, as an awkward feeling builds below his stomach. 

As if it wasn’t already enough, he notices that his mouth is watering hard. It forces him to swallow thickly. 

The intermittent wet sounds shatter the silence, slowly growing embarrassing. But he didn’t know how to make his body stop, how to prevent his shameful desire dripping from every inch of his skin. Alfie obviously noticed how bothered he was. Sure, he did. It’s discreet, but it’s also not the first time they’ve played these types of games. But usually, Tommy’s mind is more alert to find playful answers. He knows how to play, it’s just been… some time. 

He has to say something. Anything.

“I’d like another drink.”

He can’t look Alfie in the eye. It’s the dullest thing he could have said after a provocation that blunt. But his thoughts float in a hazy cloud tonight and run together in an funny way.

He focuses his attention on crushing his cigarette, unable to look anything else.

Alfie is patiently quiet though, and waiting so long that Tommy thinks he’s made a fool of himself. Finally though, his eyebrows lift and he slowly pours champagne into the flute in front of him. 

“You want it, Tommy?” Alfie asks, staring at him, and lifting the flute in the air. 

He bends over, setting the glass on the floor, halfway between the two of them. Tommy wonders why he went to the trouble, especially given the pain that creases his face when he leans down. Other than his ordinary nature of being a fucking prick, he can’t think of anything. 

“You can have it, but you’ll have to kneel on the floor for it, mate.”

And then Tommy understood. Alfie was really playing that game, again.

Suddenly, Tommy doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he’s moving. Balancing himself with the help of the table when he stands, heading towards the glass and stumbling as he sinks to his knees. He knows he’ll have bruises there tomorrow, from how hard he fell. He knows it was brutal, but his clouded mind thankfully eases the pain for now.

Surprising as it may seem, he’s truly aware how ridiculous and pitiful he’s looking. Such, at least, is how he’s picturing himself. Alfie’s stare tells another story, making his skin burn where his eyes had ventured. 

“Go on, take a sip. Or is champagne not to your taste anymore? Now you’re too posh for that stuff, eh?”

Tommy takes the glass and sips at it, never leaving his eyes. He then licks the drops of champagne that remained on his lips.

“I would have preferred rum.” Tommy whispers defiantly, not realizing the full extent of his phrasing. 

Alfie stands abruptly and grabs Tommy’s chin in one hand. His thumb brushes over Tommy’s lower lip, parting it at the touch. 

He’s staring intently at Alfie, watching as he towers over him with his dense muscular figure. 

“Careful treacle, you’re saying dangerous things.”

Alfie slowly slithers his thumb inside Tommy’s mouth, trailing it over his tongue. His eyes fixating on what’s happening between his wet lips as he slides his thumb off it. He moistens Tommy’s lower lip first, smearing over his upper lip as his thumb moves.

“I now have to adore dangerous.” Tommy says, looking up with a cheeky look.

As Alfie slides his thumb back in his parted lips, Tommy turns his tongue languidly around it. 

Hastily lifted by his chin, Tommy is forced to his feet. He lurches slightly, but an arm tightens firmly around his waist. Champagne spills down Tommy’s right hand and sleeve, dripping down and covering him at the unexpected rough movement.

The glass follows quickly, shattering into a million little pieces in a crystal clear sound as Tommy’s arms wrap around Alfie’s neck, and before he even realizes, they’re kissing. Roughly. It’s a crash of clashing teeth, slamming foreheads and ungraceful breaths. Alfie’s hands are rubbing down his sides and trail subtly towards his bum. Grabbing him with far less finesse. 

As if he hadn’t embarrassed himself enough already, when Alfie slips his tongue in his mouth, a slight broken moan escapes him. Their tongues caress each other sweetly at first, licking and twisting together. They appreciate the smoothness of their intimacy, as if everything in the world felt in place for once. But it’s not enough for Tommy, his need for release is growing second by second. He’s craving to be touched, elsewhere. These thoughts invade him with heat and urge him to provoke some sort of reaction. 

He does the first thing that comes to mind and harshly bites Alfie’s bottom lip. 

Alfie pulls away. His words are choked in his throat, but the tornado of lust twirls again in his eyes. 

Alfie kisses him again, hot and slick, as their tongues melt together and he pushes him until Tommy’s back crashes onto the counter. Alfie’s coat is discarded along the way, as well as Tommy’s waistcoat. 

Tommy unbuttons his sleeves clumsily as Alfie tackles the middle of the shirt, still kissing sloppily.

Alfie is a man who prefers concentrating on one thing at a time, and unbuttoning a shirt is a bothersome task preventing him from savoring their kiss. Especially because what he wants right now is to trail his hands on the skin below. 

Half-way through, he loses patience and gives up, and pulls on each side of his shirt, ripping the remaining buttoned knobs off their seams.

Fucking bastard, Tommy thinks, listening as the small buttons roll noisily across the wooden floor.

“You don’t need this now anyway” Alfie remarks, pulling away from the kiss.

Alfie pauses, now impossibly obsessed by the idea of destroying Tommy’s neat little look. Wanting nothing but to wreck his posh clothes and ruin the hair he took so long to comb. And as far as he had seen, the opposite is very appealing. He’d choose this dishevelled mess of swollen lips, flushed cheeks and curls falling on his eyes, over that smug, posh little rat he feels like slapping across the face. Which, after reflection, has its merits too… in a way.

Alfie presses himself against Tommy, trapping him between his body and the counter. He pushes his thigh between Tommy’s legs, high enough to make an oppressively hot pitfall in his lover’s tight pants. 

Tommy concentrates hard to avoid doing anything humiliating again, but his mind is fuzzy and it’s hard to keep track. He has no clue, if this annoyance is due to his apparent drunkenness or that frustrating coming from below his stomach and spreading through his whole body. Both, probably.

Already half-hard from the pressure, Tommy arches his hips, grinding on Alfie's thigh. And fuck… it feels good.

Alfie watches him whimper in desperation. An amused grin decorating the corner of his lips.

“How sweet, you’re a needy little thing. Trying to fluster me, are ya?” Alfie asks, grabbing Tommy’s right wrist and dragging his flat palm over his delicious lips. 

“Well now, show me how much you want all of this. Use that nice little tongue you can’t seem to keep in that pretty mouth, alright?”

Tommy hesitates, not sure how much he’s keen on obeying tonight. He isn’t disgusted by the idea. It even sounds appealing. It’s just usually not in his nature to listen. His instincts call for the opposite. To defiantly ignore the order. Just because he can. Just because he wants to see how far he can push Alfie, before he loses it. 

They’re playing that game and he knows it. 

So, he looks at Alfie, puzzled and jaw clenched, as if he didn’t understand what he asked.

“Two seconds ago, you couldn’t keep that pretty little tongue of yours in your fucking mouth and well, now, for no fucking reasons, it magically wants to stay inside.” Fixated on his eyes, Alfie’s look is stern, as his irritation overflows, creasing in his frowning eyebrows. Alfie’s thigh loosens in a subtle punishment and Tommy chokes a frustrated whine.

It’s hard to admit, even to his own conscience, but Tommy’s cock becomes impossibly thicker at the sole idea of Alfie making him do it. Of making him do things. And a hint of it must show on his face, giving it away, because Alfie slides his other hand on the back of his lover’s head and bends it slowly forward, until Tommy can’t get any closer. 

“Use. Your. Fucking. Tongue.” Alfie commands with that sharp tone he purposely uses as a last resort, frustration echoing through his words.

This tone is generally the breaking point. The moment when Tommy gets too worked up to keep fighting his desires and can’t help himself, except to do as he’s told.

So, Tommy succumbs to Alfie’s order. He licks teasingly slowly over the palm of his captive hand. The little curls partly draping Tommy’s defiant stare, make the hot and wet trail even more exciting. 

Alfie’s grip on his wrist tightens, as a spike of arousal hits him and makes his cock twitch in his pants at the delightful sight. He leads Tommy’s hand, soaked and slick, to his neglected cock. 

Tommy shakes the grip off his wrist, shoving his hand in Alfie’s underwear without undoing his pants and encircling his fist around his cock. Alfie’s head falls backwards, and his eyes shut of pleasure as Tommy gently rubs the precome with his thumb. 

Tommy starts to stroke him with torturously restrained moves and quickly accelerates the pace when Alfie eagerly opens his pants.

“You’re doing that so beautifully sweetheart, just as if it was the only thing you do every day, all day long.” Alfie murmurs, leaning to say naughty words in his ear, pushing his thigh onto Tommy’s erection again.

Tommy bends his head forward into Alfie’s neck, strangling a loud, embarrassing groan. He brushes his lips lightly up and back along Alfie’s collar, panting on the skin as he grinds against Alfie’s thigh. Alfie can’t bear the overwhelming heat creeping over his body. He quickly unbuttons his shirt and drops it on the floor. Tommy occasionally kisses and nibbles the skin on his path, and gently strokes Alfie’s cock with smooth movements, slowly twisting around until he reaches the tip and applying pressure in just the right spot. 

A sudden flash of pleasure arcs through Tommy as Alfie angles his thigh slightly. Tommy bites hard right above the collarbone to stop himself from moaning, clinging on him with the arm that doesn’t soothe Alfie’s cock.

Alfie growls from the back of his throat. He knows he won’t be able to last much longer like that. 

“You silly boy. Do you want to be fucked? That’s what you want, eh?” He slaps Tommy’s hand, grasping his wrist to take it off his cock.

Heat floods through Tommy’s limbs, and he hums something that sounds suspiciously like a whimper. 

“I didn’t hear that, put some effort into it.”

“Yes…”

“Yes, what ?”

“Fuck off.”

The pressure on Tommy’s cock loosens again, though he keeps thrusting into the air, looking for any kind of friction.

“Stop whining like a little girl. Just say it.”

Tommy hesitates, just to see if he can avoid what he knows is his fate. 

“Please” Tommy whispers so softly, that Alfie barely catches it. 

He isn’t entirely satisfied by this answer, but these are troubles for another time. The words were quiet, but no less delicious to hear.

Alfie turns him around suddenly, pressing closer and allowing their skin to touch. 

“You’re not as bad as I thought when it comes to finding a good metaphor. The rum thing, it was nice that one.” Alfie whispers in his ear. 

He lays his palm flat over the small of his back and pushes. 

Tommy stretches his arms on the counter in front of him, starting to bend slowly. Alfie grabs his jaw with his other hand and pushes his head against the counter. He wasn’t rough enough to hurt him, but he wasn’t gentle either.

“You, don’t move an inch.” Alfie says, releasing his jaw and pointing his finger at him, stating with absolute clarity that it’s non-negotiable.

He moves away from Tommy, grabbing his discarded coat and taking out a little bottle of oil. When he bends down to pick up the cloth, he bites down his tongue to stop himself from making any noise. His face creases in agony, his traitorous body making every line stark and pained. There aren’t many things that trouble Alfie Solomons, but being seen as an old man is something he’s not yet ready for. 

Tommy stays still, watchful and curious as Alfie moves. He’s cold. His limbs miss the heat and comforting frame of Alfie’s body.

“You have oil!?” His lips rub against the counter as he talks.

Back behind him, Alfie undoes Tommy’s trousers, tugging them down unceremoniously. Just enough to let his arching ass shows, but not sufficiently to be completely freed. He stops right under his ass to make it slightly uncomfortable when Tommy will want to spread his legs further. Picturing the bastard struggling already arousing Alfie far too much for his own good. 

“Shall I remind you that I’m a fucking sodomite, mate?” Alfie grins, as he’s splaying oil on his fingers. “If it wasn’t you tonight, I would have found someone.” 

Tommy can’t help but feel a bit disappointed to hear the truth, and he knows he shouldn’t because, what was he thinking, really? 

Alfie notices his gaze going blank and bends just above him, lying over his back.

“After meetings with you, I need to clear my head from all these distracting thoughts you put in it.” He whispers in his ear, pushing a finger in at his last words. And, holy fuck… Tommy’s breath hitches at the touch.

Alfie stays still, unmoving. And it lasts, and lasts until Tommy can’t bear the frustration and whines without even trying to hide it.

“You’re so pretty when you whine” Alfie comments, pitching his words as if they were the most normal thing in the world to say.

“I’m not… ‘whining’.” Tommy tries to argue, his usual disdain for anything that could show even the slightest hint of his lack of control.

Tommy attempts to spread his legs, looking for any way to widen them further, even poorly. But he’s restrained by the pants hanging on his thighs. It forces another whine out of him, proving Alfie’s point without trying to. 

“Yeah treacle, just like that. So pretty.” Alfie praises him, petting his sides.

Even if he has his standards and expectations, Alfie is mostly here to please, so he straightens and gets on with it, slowly sliding his finger in and out. The movements force Tommy to gasp against the counter and damn… it’s a lovely view.

“You’re such a sight, Tommy. If only you could see yourself right now…”

Tommy grips the edge of the bar next to his head, choking on his hard pants as his knuckles whiten. Alfie presses between his shoulder blades, shoving him higher onto the counter. He is already falling apart around his finger and Alfie wants to see more. He inserts a second finger inside him in one sitting. Tommy gasps even louder than the first time, probably unconscious of all the noises he’s making. One hand would already reaching to cover his mouth, if he noticed how loud he is right at this fucking instant. 

Tommy lips part, linked by a thin dribble of saliva. Frustrated by all this stillness, he starts to reach for his cock. 

Alfie tuts disapprovingly at the movement. 

“Did you hear me say you could?” Alfie asks, amused by how desperate Tommy is. “I funnily can’t recall.”

He grabs Tommy’s wrist and pins it on the counter. He grips the other in the same hand, holding Tommy down.

“I bet you’ll be more compliant like that, eh?”

Tommy swallows hard, the frustration being more and more bothersome in his tight pants. His cock aches to be touched.

He’s gasping for breath, as Alfie starts to finally move his fingers. Opening him up just the way he wants him to. Thrusting and thrusting until Tommy is embarrassingly loud, and panting so hard that he’s out of breath.

Alfie lets go of his hands and pulls on Tommy’s hair to tilt his head. Eager to see his face twisted by all the pleasure. 

Alfie moves closer to his ear, whispering, “Since you graced my ears with such exquisite noises, moaning so beautifully like the good boy you are, I want you to tell me exactly what you want.”

He adds another finger, feeling that Tommy could take it easily.

Tommy moans, looking away, lost in a storm of contentment.

“Did you hear me?” Alfie asks, shaking him. His grip tightens over his hair, roughly shoving his head as his fingers inside stop moving. 

“We’re too far away…”

“I didn’t ask you to mumble facts, but to tell me what you want, alright?” Alfie replies dryly, pulling his fingers away. 

Tommy’s shifty eyes begin to irritate him. He pulls his hair a bit harsher, making Tommy clench his jaw, and says with a strict tone, “Fucking look me in the eyes when you talk.”

Tommy huffs. He turns his gaze and dives in Alfie’s stare. 

“...I want you, face to face….. and closer.” Tommy says quietly, forcing himself to keep eye-contact, even though the only thing he feels like doing is looking away with embarrassment.

“Fucking hell. You look even more divine when you comply so willingly, sweetie.” He praises, letting his hand that gripped his hair slide down Tommy’s neck, stroking slowly. 

Alfie pulls him up and turns him around again, kissing him hungrily and tasting the flavors they didn’t take the time to savour earlier. They both grab the others face in two hands, pressing each other even closer. Always closer. As if it wouldn’t hurt at some point. 

Alfie moves backwards, drawing Tommy with him without stopping the kiss. They quickly cross the pub, stepping on broken glass and nearly slipping on their discarded clothes. Alfie turns them around before they reach the bench seat and shoves Tommy on it. They both kick their shoes and socks off in quick moves and Alfie pulls on Tommy’s trousers and underwear to make them glide off his legs. He takes the rest of his own clothes off before lying down over top of him. 

They’re already panting in each other’s mouths, kissing again, tongues swirling together. Both eager for more. Alfie opens the bottle of oil he took care to remove from his trousers and Tommy spreads his legs wider, arching to let Alfie in.

Alfie hums in anticipation, smearing oil on his cock.

“So nice and ready, just for me…” Alfie says, penetrating Tommy slowly. He stays there without moving, letting Tommy become accommodated. But arousal floods through every part of his body and the more time passes, the less he can restrain himself from thrusting slightly inside Tommy. He wants to fuck him until he can’t see straight ever again.

As a reference to the word that he found so hard to say earlier, Tommy stares into Alfie’s eyes and whispers distinctly, “Please.”

Fuck. He can’t resist that. His cock aches from all the pent up desire and he thrusts into Tommy gently, worshipping every noise he makes. 

Tommy pins Alfie to his chest, enclosing him with his arms and snuggling his head in his neck. Alfie tries to detach gently to catch his gaze, but Tommy hugs him tighter against him and wraps his legs around his waist. The feeling of his skin against his, drops him into a state of ecstasy, leveraging the effects of Alfie’s thrusts. 

Alfie doesn’t have the courage to try to move away again. He starts to enjoy being pressed like that, and Tommy’s moans are delightful. It would feel like denying him his orgasm to pull away. And as enjoyable as it would be, right now, the only thing he wants to see is this powerful man crumbling under his touch. This powerful man that just wants to be held. Close.

His growls mingle with Tommy’s moans at every thrust and Alfie is quickly whipped into an excited frenzy. 

He lays a hand behind Tommy’s neck and pulls him closer against him. The feeling is nearly too much. Tommy’s breathing skips a beat and transforms in short ragged breath, inciting Alfie to pound deeper into him.

He’s so close. Alfie can feel Tommy’s muscles tensing around him and tries to gather every ounce of remaining will to hold his release back. 

“You still want to fuck into your tiny pretty fist, right?” Alfie whispers.

Tommy nods fiercely against his neck.

“Then, go on sweetheart.” 

Tommy trails his right hand down his body, releasing a bit of Alfie’s neck. He wraps his hand around his cock, grasping himself roughly, seeking his release. He’s closer with every thrust, his teeth gritting and sweat pouring down his forehead. It doesn’t take long before he’s hit by an intense wave of pleasure.

Overwhelmed by the orgasm flooding him, Tommy groans deeply as Alfie fucks him through it. He comes all over his stomach, clinging tightly to Alfie, as small whines escaping, and Alfie just needs a few thrusts more before he’s thrown into his own pleasure. 

Alfie collapses onto Tommy’s neck, panting breath puff into each other’s necks. 

Alfie raises his head. The whole place looks like a mess. Less of a mess than Tommy Shelby, who’s shuddering beneath him, it goes without saying, but still. 

He rolls on his side and snuggles against Tommy’s back, embracing his waist. He caresses his skin softly with his face. Tommy takes one of Alfie’s hands on his waist and tucks it in his own. 

Alfie usually loves to talk, but he's learned that, sometimes, it’s better to keep silent and just take the moment offered to you. Especially if one Tommy Shelby finds the courage to hold hands.

But, this doesn’t stop him thinking that all of this happened, because Tommy Shelby couldn’t keep his fucking tongue in his mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> It's my first time writing smut, so I hope you liked it.  
Thank you so much again to the lovely @tinypinetrees who still bears my attempts at writing! You have my undying love <3


End file.
